Thursday, July 5, 2007

Epilogue

ep·i·logue also ep·i·log (ěp'ə-lôg', -lŏg') n.


  1. A short poem or speech spoken directly to the audience
    following the conclusion of a play.
  2. The Performer who delivers such a short poem or speech.
  3. A short addition or concluding section at the end of a literary work,
    often dealing with the future of its characters. Also called an afterward.

We drove to the Jacksonville airport, said good bye to dad. He found an earlier flight and took it back to Charlotte. We hung around for our flight to Manchester, New Hampshire. We looked forward to seeing Chris's dad, helping him around the house. We also had scheduled a pancake fund raiser at Applebee's. Chris's sister Barb arranged it all, including a visit from a Manchester Union Leader reporter. We'd have an opportunity to tell our story about our moms and about pancreatic cancer.

When we're in Manchester, we always visit Newbury Comics and Stoneyfield Farm Dairy in Londonderry, New Hampshire. The comic shop has music, books/comics, postcards, magnets, bumper stickers, Red Sox Nation paraphernalia and Spawn figures. The place is fun and we usually find something we can't live without.

Stoneyfield Farm Dairy offers plant tours. The tour includes a short video of some history, then a quick out-and-back walk down one factory hallway. The highlight comes at the end of the tour. A tray overflowing with all their products sits on the table, no-limit yogurt consumption, lactose intolerance be damned. If you've never tried YoBaby Original, do so immediately. The top layer is whole cream fat. Growing babies need that extra layer for brain development and long winter nights. It's also a good thing babies can't yet read the nutrition label and fat content numbers.

No tour this time, just stocking up on yogurt and yogurt drinks for Pete, Chris's dad. We get talking to the folks helping us out. We mention we're from Oregon, we love your stuff, we always eat Banilla (Banana/vanilla) yogurt when we can find it and that we come in every time we're in town. They remember us. Out comes the sample tray, well alright!

We eat yogurt, drink yogurt. Chris grabs a strawberry soy yogurt, pops the top, takes a bite. Something is very wrong, but the alarm does not go off in time before she swallows that first bite. The good-through dates are past on a few of the items on the tray. Chris let's them know, we leave.

Immediately it hits, like a stomach flu. Ka-Boom. All the basement action causes a fissure, a lovely hemorrhoid. Nice. Our drive to Portsmouth, New Hampshire the next day was uncomfortable and long for Chris and this was just the beginning. We buy the usual remedies at the drug store.

Still suffering two days later, we catch our flight to NYC. The connection out of JFK turned into one of those precious travel experiences that never translates into words, like being in the military or war. You just have to live through it. Let's just say it was unbelievable. Our gate, stuck between a jumbo jet flight to Italy and another flight to Mexico City was clustered with passenger-in-waiting overflow, all three flights leaving within 20 minutes of one another.

Finally on the plane, the back up in the big blue is so severe, we sit on the tarmac for two more hours. The way the pilot explained it, our on-ramp into the sky was metered, keeping us waiting behind 25 other planes while air traffic cleared out.

Airborne, we pray for a movie, as the flight is almost 7 hours. Every 15 minutes or so, Chris would quickly inhale in pain, the knife-wielding butt barnacle slashing, jabbing and poking for the fun of it. It sounded like she was taking a quick hit off a fatty, not like either of us knows what that sounds like. I'd look at her grimace with eyes squeezed shut. What could I do? I'll write a poem to mark the moment. There is no better way to pay our respects to such circumstances.

The aircraft starts its descent, we know we'll be home in a little over an hour. Emily drops us at the house. We drag ourselves in, open some windows to clear the stale air. The flight delay put our arrival at home around 1 am. Too tired for a shower, brushing my teeth will have to suffice, then to bed. In the darkened bathroom I grab the paste, loading up my brush. Two or three strokes. Did we pick up a new toothpaste? This stuff has no taste.

I turn on the light and check the label -
Preparation H.

over and out-until next time

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

Final mileage and Thank You All

Total mileage:


2918.09



32 days of riding


(yes we skipped Sanderson, Texas to Del Rio, Texas - too much righteous Texas weather)



91.19 miles per day average



14.48 mph average



Grand total raised for the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network


Just over $14,000



Thanks to . . .


Dad and Phyllis for all the support in the form of food, company, ride to Del Rio, Texas, photography, everything; Pete Panagos for the air miles, room and board when we stopped in; Roxane and Jubal for the great GPS phone (everyone loved it); Peter and Max Panagos for meeting us in High Springs, Florida and bailing us out of a tight spot; Barb Desclos for all her help with the Applebee's Pancake fundraiser; Monica and Deb and their contingent of extremely aware and generous friends; Deedra Tackett for checking on us every day and worrying; Emily Ohlin for keeping Porter happy; Mr. and Mrs. Ohlin for sharing the finish with us and taking St. Augustine pictures; Tom Trissel for the gear hook up; Marsha Ware, the best pod mate ever, for the map and hotel confirmation support; Brad Potts for the cards; Cord Amato for the card graphics; Nicholas Freedman and David L'Heureux for the bicycling.com connection; Dave Baker at Gila Bike&Hike, Silver City, NM for the $10 labor spoke replacement/wheel true, and for being open on Sunday; PanCAN for spending the money wisely and helping people out; All you TRUCKERS out there for slowing down and giving us a bit more room - you know who you are; all the convenience store clerks, for letting us use your bathrooms even when we did not buy anything; everyone who donated to the ride - we want to thank all of you personally for your generosity; Jasper the Cat, for not running too far and inspecting our gear every time we set foot in the MoHo; Salomon USA and West Portland Physical Therapy Clinic for their super-generous donations; David Munk for kicking down with budget money as a donation; Carol, Georgia, Grant and Pam for being great neighbors and checking on the homestead in our absence; Hammer Nutrition for keeping us fueled; Best Western for the most kick ass motels out on the high plains, and to both of you out there reading this blog - we thank you.



Thanks Nina and Phylis for watching over us.
We love you

Day 39 - East Palatka, FL to St. Augustine, FL 45.14 miles/15.0 mph average 2 hrs 47 min

Leaving East Palatka


One more short day. Not much to say different about this day that has not been said about others. We missed our turn coming out of town, back tracked and corrected. The route heads north along the St. Johns River. It is more scenic, but if we ever do this again, we'd stay on highway 207 straight into St. Augustine. Dump trucks replaced logging trucks on the scenic route, no shoulders, Sketchville Central. 207 is a wide boulevard with 8 to 10 foot shoulders. Shoulda. coulda, woulda stayed on 207. Next time for sure. The last 16 miles due east straight into a head wind (surprised?). We just laughed at it while dodging the dumpers. They must have been filling in low areas because they were swarming.









Dump Trucks, no shoulder, life is sweet


The plan for the finish included riding to the Atlantic, wheel dip and all. Once we arrived into St. Augustine, we realized quickly this would not be easy. Traffic converges on this little town like a blood clot. Everything backs up everywhere. Highway # 1 busts at the seams, while the streets in the city proper are Lilliputian. We canceled the beach ride, proceeding straight to the bike shop where dad and Emily's parents waited for us. There were no fireworks or tears (we cried them all out in Texas), very anti-climatic. In one word: RELIEF.




"Ask me in a month if I'd EVER do this again . . . "






fish-belly hand tops, tanned fingers



I'd turn around and ride back to Portland if I could see my mom again



My hamhocks were cooked - time to quit

We stripped everything off the bikes, put on our street shoes and left the bikes at the shop for shipping. Although we felt a bit flat at the end we were grateful to be safe and also pleased that we could get rid of the bikes and not look at them for a while (maybe UPS would divert my rear wheel to Siberia, no problem).




Let's dump the bikes and go eat

Dad already staked out the UPS store. We dropped in and picked up a shipping box to send all the ride-specific gear back home. We'd be in Manchester, NH for about a week starting tomorrow and did not want to drag the stuff around. Back at the Scottish Inn Motel, we combed through everything and packed just what we'd need for the remainder of the trip, the rest to the UPS store. Business tended to, we coordinated dinner with Tom and Cathy, Emily's parents. It was great having them in St. Augustine for the finish.



Tom and Cathy Ohlin, dining with a few undesirables


We drove to the beach (much further than we thought) stopped into a book shop, found a Dairy Queen (I ate a burger and fries - I just can't stop myself) for dessert then went back to the motel to rest up.

Thanks for everything Dad - We love you
The water was about 80 degrees - for real


over and out

Day 38 - High Springs, FL to East Palatka, FL 94.71 miles/15.0 mph average 5 hours 47 min

The brick bike path out of High Springs - lasted about a mile

With 95 miles today, we decided to sleep in and go have breakfast with Peter and Max. Waffle House one more time. Just walking in the door feels like eating a meal, so much of the cooked food hangs in the air. Like a contact high, only better. Peter marveled at the quantity of food we consistently ate. Honestly, it was getting old. Pounding food is not something either of us really enjoy. Feeling full all the time distracts from the rest of your life. By the time we ate, got back to the room and prepped to leave, it was nearly 9 am and getting warm. We said our good byes and headed out. Peter and Max planned a few activities for the morning, and we'd see them one more time a bit later.




My first trip through the outlying Gainesville area featured perfect roads, minimal traffic, pure cycling joy. As seen below, it's still the same, but better. Making good time, we rode passed a few high caliber, competitive runners out training on the country roads. With what looked like 2 to 5 percent body fat, we figured they skipped the Waffle House this morning.



OK, no shoulder but who cares?


this road is dreamy, I think I'm in love


The route heads around the north side of the city, then drops south to the Gainesville-Hawthorne State Trail. 16 miles of controlled access recreational path. Such paths work great with the caveat that extra care is needed with families cycling with children. They tend to swerve a bit. The path reminded me of the Birk-Gilman in Seattle, Springwater Corridor in Portland.




Sign at the trail head

Trail starts here - enjoy the ride

The trail proved easy going, just a few rough patches and hilly sections. A doe bolted across the path 15 feet in front of us at one point. Thickly wooded land hid most of the wildlife. The trail parallels state road # 20 into Hawthorne. Dad flew down from Charlotte earlier in the day, and we met up with him in Hawthorne when we stopped for lunch.



From Hawthorne we had about 40 miles remaining on the day. Our plan to stay on state road # 20 fell through since it was Johnny-Dangerous. The logging trucks were once again ridiculous (was it the same pack of 20 following us across the country, running circles around us?). With no shoulder for safe riding, we popped north to the prescribed route, which did turn out better. Jamming through Melrose, Putnam Hall, Florahome and Carraway, 10 miles left to East Palatka. The St. Johns River separates Palatka and East Palatka. Just West of Palatka, Chris states categorically that she has a rear flat. I look down at her tire, it looks OK from where I'm sitting. We are so close and in a groove, I did not even want to stop and check. How awful is that? I look down again, certain that the tire is not losing pressure. I then ask her if it feels like the tire can finish the next 4 miles or so. Stopping to change a flat so close to the end, what can I say, not a good thing.

as it turns out, the tire was not flat, possibly her energy was. We'd been pushing hard against yet another head wind for the last 30 miles. It added up. I felt it. Over the bridge into East Palatka, the Best Western there on the right, dad snapping pics.



does her rear tire look flat to you?



Best baked beans ever

Hot by the end of day, we scrounged change for the Gatorade (what else?) machine outside the room after checking in. We immediately started thinking about food once we cleaned up. Dad did not notice the combo Dunkin Donuts/31 Flavors on the way into town, but we pointed it out on our way to some BBQ with absolutely the best baked beans I've ever tasted. The little bowl of beans with my meal was not enough. I wonder how a baked bean buffet would've worked out. Not pretty, I'd imagine.

We hit 31 flavors on the way back, then retired to dad's room to watch the Red Sox on the tube. Pure bliss, even though they lost to the Yankees, 6 to 2. Bitter.

over and out

day 37 - Madison, FL to High Springs, FL 75.22 miles/15.4 mph average 4 hrs 30 min

We had little idea of the road conditions on #53 and federal road # 27, but were willing to take a chance. A Florida state trooper was gassing up last night and he told us that 27 had a decent "skirt" or shoulder, and that he remembered it being resurfaced not so long ago. We'd take it.

Up at 4 am, everything organized and ready to go from the night before. We ate in the room, filled our bottles with ice from the ice machine, pulled the door closed and took off. With no city lights polluting the darkness, it was pitch black out. Sunday at 4 to 5 am is too early for church. The only drivers on the road are typically those coming home from bars or parties.



Chris's red flashing light needed batteries so we dropped into the market attached to a gas station next to the motel. We rolled up and a surly group piled out of a car, a drunk girl screaming some choice words and phrases at the driver as he walked toward the store laughing over his shoulder at her. Ah, true love.



Once we got 100 yards from the station, it was like riding into an ink well. Our headlights provided ample light for the road in front of us, but not enough for the sides of the roads. I'd pivot my light back and forth occasionally when approaching a side road or driveway. Chris gave me a Surefire flashlight a while back. Finally, a chance to use it. The light is incredibly bright and tough, made to military and law enforcement specs (http://www.surefire.com/).
We'd hear cars coming miles off, before we saw headlights. The whining, white sound of a single car travels far in the vacuum of no other noise. We decided to pull off the road, douse the bike lights and hide out from the cars. Call it paranoia, but we turned it into a game; hear the car, see the lights, find a driveway to hideout - this usually coincided with a pee break anyway, no harm, no foul. At one point we heard the high pitched whine of 4WD pickups screaming down the road behind us. We scooted to a side road, turned out the bike lights and waited. The pitch of the tires wound down as both trucks slowed to take a hard right onto a dirt road less than 100 yards behind us. Any conversation with the natives at 5 am would probably not be a good one.
The horizon on our left turned from black to purple to deep red, red, than orange as the sun rose. By the time we hit federal road # 27, daylight flooded the woods, and we felt much safer. 27 was the perfect road, all requirements filled; good shoulder and surface, flat, dry weather. We chewed away at the miles until a red rental car slowed down with Peter and Max inside.
Peter, pale Max and Chris
We met up with them between Mayo, Florida and Branford, Florida. Max got out of the car looking a bit pale. He said hello than said "I'm not getting back into that car again, I think I'm gonna throw up." One thing I've discovered about kids, when they say they're going to puke, they usually do. Irony and sarcasm don't apply in these cases. He puked, several times. We could do nothing but feel bad for him while trying to aid in keeping the stuff off of his shoes. His technique will no doubt improve over time. Practice, practice.
25 miles left to High Springs, Peter and Max took off and did some sightseeing. We put our heads down to finish as soon as we could, taking advantage of our early start. One last food stop and I called Bob to let him know the wheel held together, and should make it to town where we'd take it in for another repair. 95 miles on a broken spoke. We finished just after midday, again meeting up with Peter and Max once we hit main street. We followed them to the motel, not just any motel, the Cadillac Motel. $45 a night and well worth it. Diving is popular in the area. The Cadillac is base camp for hoards of middle aged men, staying for weeks at a time, diving the local hot spots.


the wheel I know and love

We pull into the motel. As Chris checks in, Max gets that pale look again and suddenly blows vomit all over the walkway in front of the rooms. A total surprise attack. Was it us? The red paint on the rental car? Video games in a moving car? The state of Florida? What could possibly incite his stomach to hit the reject button? I asked the motel cleaning person for a bucket. Filling it with water, I rinsed the globs off the walkway, double power rinse. Doctor Peter said it was a 24 hour bug.

The Swamp

We cleaned up and dropped the wheel in the trunk, ran it to the shop. The shop guy suggested a Mexican place for lunch. The food was good, but I chose a coconut drink, expecting a sweet liquid. It was bitter with small chunks of diced coconut floating around in the can. Take a drink, chew, take a drink, chew. It sucked.
Peter wanted to take pictures of the Gator stadium (Ben Hill Griffin Stadium). We stopped by, saw workers with a gate open and walked right in. We crawled all over the place and even saw a few nuts running stairs in the heat. http://virtualtour.ufl.edu/campus_sites/stadium.htm. Once inside, it was like a heat sink, the sun beaming down into the center of the stadium, magnified by the bowl-shaped seating structure.
Max, throw up over there, not here

I walked up the stairs to take this picture. The next day on the bike, I couldn't figure out why my calves were on fire. Duh . . . When you do one thing everyday for almost six weeks, your body protests when asked to adapt to a new activity
We drove around for 30 minutes (thanks Peter) looking for Dos Equis. The bike shop guy said it was the shop beer of choice, so we promised a case for saving our asses. Beer as a peace offering or sign of appreciation works. There is nothing better than a free buzz. Enjoy this bit of beer trivia from Wikipedia:
Dos Equis is a Mexican Beer. It was first crafted in Mexico by the German brewmaster Wilhelm Hasse in 1897. Originally called "Siglo XX" ("20th century"), the brand was named to commemorate the arrival of the new century; since the Spanish language uses Roman numerals for centuries, the bottles were marked "XX", two Xs, or "Dos Equis".
On the way back to the motel, Chris treated us to smoothies ($24 total cost, wow), then back to the room for some down time. A fifties style cafe sat 1/8th of a mile down the road for dinner. burgers, salads, fries, Linguini (we taught Max the word - LING + WEENIE, it worked). Then Coronas on the freshly rinsed walkway outside the rooms. Thanks to Peter and Max for coming down to visit us and making the day a great success. Chris summed up by saying that it was a touch of reality, of family, of things that really mattered. It lent perspective to being on strange roads, seeing strange new things, day after long day. Riding every day like this is not real life. Family is always the truest connection to our lives.
over and out

Monday, July 2, 2007

Day 36 - Quincy, FL to Madison, FL 94.61 miles/14.4 mph average 6 hrs 04 min

Leaving the motel around 6 am, we head north, back on state road # 267 to the interstate 10 junction, with the hope that we could merge onto the interstate for five miles to Midway, where the route picks up again. We rolled down the on ramp with a non-motorized Vehicles prohibited sign stopping us cold. No bikes, skateboards, Big Wheels or Razor scooters allowed. No exhaust, no passage. Weighing the lost time involved with getting stopped by Florida state trooper, we backed up the ramp then headed north to the Quincy city limits, turned right, east on state road # 268.

19 miles into the ride today we pass through Tallahassee, Florida. Car dealerships, strip malls, gas stations everywhere. Nearing the eastern rim of the city, we stop for a quick water/food break then head back out onto beautifully shaded country roads. State road # 20 proves the better option, since the bike route takes a lengthy and unnecessary diversion onto a bike trail south to Woodville, Florida. It adds at least 12 additional miles so we skip it. Sightseeing is low on the list at this point.


About five miles west of Monticello, Florida and we are making great time. The surface is smooth, shaded roads, minimal traffic. Then suddenly, PING - another spoke breaks on the rear wheel, drive side! The wheel immediately wobbles out of true, rubbing on the left chain stay. I pull off the road, get off the bike and stare at the wheel in disbelief. I throw it my best stink-eye while simultaneously spewing some colorful language. To put this in context, of the thousands of miles ridden since I started cycling in the late 70's, early 80's, I've broken two spokes. Additionally, weighing just over 170 pounds, I am very good to my wheels, unweighting as much as needed, reducing undo impact. Now, in the span of less than 3000 miles, two more spokes break on the same wheel. There is some bad energy trying to get out of this infected hoop.


As a rule, if three spokes break on the same wheel, the wheel is placed on death row. I see a defective component no longer able to perform at a baseline level. It's fate is sealed. When we get back to Portland, I'll take it apart, cut out the spokes and have a new wheel built up around the existing hub. A new Velocity rim from Australia combined with straight-gauge DT spokes should rid this wheel of all negative energy and psychic weakness.


I come to my senses upon realizing I still need this wheel. I coddle it, apologize and talk nice to it, convince it to hold together for an uncertain distance. I call Bob on his cell and he suggests easing tension on some of the spokes near the broken one. He then assures me the wheel will not fail catastrophically if ridden in its current state. Wobbling into Monticello, we ask around for a bike shop at the corner store. "Yeah, sure, there's a shop back a ways, take a right at the traffic circle," two people tell us. Great! We backtrack but see no shop. Two businesses, one a hardware store, have no idea of any shop in town at all. What?


There is no other bike shop listed in our map until Gainesville, Florida. With Chris's brother meeting us in two days in High Springs, about 15 miles outside of Gainesville, we could bum a ride to the shop. The trick would be to first get to High Springs under our own steam. From where we are, that's about 95 miles. That's a whole truck load of wobble. We press on, nonetheless. 30 miles left to Madison, our next stop. Around Greenville, Florida, half way between Monticello and Madison, we see this sign:

We're too close to quit at this point so we snap the picture,

have a laugh and commence wobble.

The Reduced Speed Ahead sign finally comes into view for Madison. Endorphins flood our brains whenever we see this sign. It tells us we are either at our final destination or close to a lunch break, change in direction, scenery, energy. Again, the motel, this time a Super 8, is close to the interstate so we head south on state road 53 for more than five miles. I check the map and see that we can stay on # 53 for the first 20 miles tomorrow morning, head east on Federal road # 27, straight into High Springs. Though Shalt not Backtrack.

We check in, clean up and walk 100 paces to the Denny's right next door. Food makes everything better and I forget my wheel woes a bit more with each bite. We need an early night since we want a super early start in the morning, allowing enough time to get to the bike shop and wheel repair. My early night turns into watching V for Vendetta. Great movie. This second viewing reveals so much that I missed the first time.

over and out

Friday, June 29, 2007

Day 35 - Rest Day Quincy, Florida Zero miles

4 days of riding left to go!
With no transportation at a hotel removed from everything except for a Chevron gas station/quick mart, we hung around the room, waiting to get started again. When I did the ride in 1999, I arrived into Gainsville, Florida for my last rest day. After only a few hours I decided to skip the rest day and finish one day early. Physically, you're in great shape and feel you can continue riding day after day, but mentally you are over it. The compulsion to finish steels your resolve, specifically if new and interesting obstacles pop up.
over and out

Donate to the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network

donate at our fund raising website: www.firstgiving.com/rideforawareness donate by mail - make checks payable to PanCAN. Please send to:

Jennifer Morabito TeamHOPE Manager - West Pancreatic Cancer Action Network (PanCAN) 2141 Rosecrans Ave., Suite 7000 El Segundo, CA 90245

Please note on check that funds go toward Ride for Awareness 2007. Thank you.

donate by phone: Call toll free at 877-272-6226